Virtually Harmless Page 2
There was a movement and, looking down into the reflective eyes, she saw a small, skinny kitten.
“Where did you come from?” Micah murmured.
It clearly wasn’t someone’s pet, too young to be let out on its own. A feral cat or the kitten of one of the barn cats on a nearby farm. It wouldn’t stand much chance out there on its own, with coyotes and other predators venturing close to the houses, habituated to humans.
“Hopefully, your mommy is close by to take you home.”
Micah unlocked her door, gathered the flyers and mail from her mailbox. Mostly flyers. Like everyone else in the modern world, she preferred to have her bills delivered to her virtual inbox rather than physical copies through the mail. A lot of the new communities were using centralized neighborhood boxes rather than delivering directly to homes.
She pushed the door open, put everything down on the side table inside the door, and swiveled to shut and lock the door behind her. A dirty gray form zipped by her.
“Hey!”
Micah stood there for a moment, not sure what to do. Yelling and chasing the kitten wasn’t likely to be very productive. If she just left the door open a few inches, chances were it would leave on its own. As long as she didn’t feed it or make it comfortable, it would wander back out again. She didn’t have a litter box or any cat food.
She removed her shoes and coat and put them away. She took the mail and flyers to her desk and sorted them into her in-tray or recycling bin. That done, it was time to get herself something to eat.
Whenever she saw the kitten poke its head out, she did her best to shoo it toward the open door. But it seemed determined to stay, and she didn’t like the idea of leaving the door open for so long.
It had been a long day, so she wasn’t in the mood for anything that required much effort. She drained a can of white beans, added some herbs from her windowsill garden and marinara sauce and warmed it up while she made a quick salad. The cat hadn’t appeared again, so she sat down at her table to eat. If she ignored it, it would give up on getting anything from her and leave again. Hopefully, before the house got too cold. The temperature was going to drop below freezing, judging by the biting wind that was getting gradually more brisk.
She browsed through her social networks as she ate, even though she knew that the experts said one should not do anything else while eating, just focusing on the food. Her restless brain and body would never allow that.
Despite the amount of time and energy Micah put into her work, she was very active in a number of social forums. She found it a satisfying way to engage with other people and share interests on her own schedule and at her own pace. The internet made it easier to compose her thoughts in a detailed post that others would appreciate, a significant advantage over water cooler or cocktail party chit-chat.
There was a post by Michael Morse in one of the social forums on computer-generated imaging systems, and Micah stopped and read through it. Michael was a brilliant computer coder EvPro had engaged from time to time to track down some bugs and improve the quality of the composites the computer generated from DNA analysis. As Micah was the person at EvPro who lived in the nexus of the scientific data and produced the faces of victims and suspects and took them to the next level, she had worked closely with him on several occasions. She had come to admire the unique way he visualized computer code and was able to use it to generate faces, places, and everything needed to create his own virtual reality worlds. He worked remotely from the lab in his garage, the whole blue-painted interior acting as a virtual screen for his computer-generated images.
While much of what he posted was too technical for her to comprehend fully, she always read his posts, and was fascinated with his ideas and how he was able to transform data points into his own version of reality. She was fully engrossed in Michael’s latest post when there was a crash from the kitchen. Micah shot out of her seat.
She knew before she got there what had happened.
The kitten was nowhere in sight. The crash had probably scared the crap out of it. The bean can was on the floor, evidence that the cat had been licking up the remains of the juice. The cat had also made significant inroads in the beans in marinara sauce that Micah had left on the counter. Micah had mistakenly assumed that the kitten wouldn’t be interested in anything but cat food or meat or fish. But if the poor thing was starving, it would probably eat whatever it could drag out of the trash.
“Kitty, kitty?” she called softly. “Where did you go?”
Her house was sparsely decorated, even spartan. That was the way she liked it. Clean lines, little to distract her attention. So it didn’t take long to find the kitten in the gap between the fridge and the counter. It peered up at her with big, frightened eyes.
“I can see I’m not going to be able to get rid of you tonight!”
Micah left the kitten in its hiding place and went back out to the front room to shut the door. She had goosebumps from the chilly air that had blown in. She grabbed a hoodie from the front closet and pulled it on over her head. She warmed her hands in the kangaroo pouch and went back to the kitchen to deal with her unwanted visitor.
❋
For a long time, they just watched each other. Micah sat down on the floor with her legs crossed and watched the kitten. The kitten stared back out at her.
A few times, it mewed silently at her, mouth opening wide and nothing coming out. Maybe its voice was too high, out of the range of human hearing. Micah put some of the beans in a little aluminum pie plate and set it on the floor. She sat and waited some more.
Eventually, the cat’s hungry tummy drew it back out of the hiding place, and it quickly licked up the bean mixture, purring a tiny rumbling purr. When it was done, the kitten sat back to wash, looking at Micah most of the time, wondering who or what she was and what she was going to do. Micah spoke a few words, trying to reassure it and get it used to her voice.
When the kitten was finished its bath, it crept toward her, tail held up high and eyes wide and curious. Micah held out her hand and allowed the cat to sniff her thoroughly. When she petted its head, it jumped back at first, but as she continued to pat it or rub its ears and chin, it calmed.
The next thing Micah knew, it was sleeping curled up in the big pocket of her hoodie, and she was wondering what she was going to do with a kitten.
Chapter Four
Micah scrolled through the items in her email inbox, scanning the subject lines for any new cases or updates on old ones. Too much spam and corporate junk. It was unbelievable how much people chattered back and forth over nothing.
Her phone rang. Micah looked down at the screen. Wes Watley. Ex-FBI and Army CID, Wes was now a private security consultant that she’d had the opportunity to do some work for once or twice. Micah tapped the phone to answer the call.
“Wes.”
“Micah, how are things going in your part of the country?”
“Getting cold. What can I do for you?”
Like her, Wes was not one for chit-chat and didn’t see the need to continue with the small talk.
“Heard about a lost baby that must not be too far from you. Wondered what you had heard.”
“A lost baby?” Micah repeated. She clicked her daily news email and skimmed it for details. “Missing person? Kidnapping?”
“Well, I suppose I should say a found baby. Abandoned. They don’t know who the parents are or why the baby was left there.”
Micah’s body shuddered with a chill. She looked around for her sweater and pulled it on, but the shakiness did not pass.
“Where was she found?” she asked Wes.
“In the Sweetgrass Hills. That’s the mountain range close to you, isn’t it? Part of the Rockies?”
“It’s near here. But it’s an island range,” Micah repeated. “Not part of the Rockies. Out in the prairie on its own.”
“Huh. Never knew that.”
“No reason you would, unless you went to school here. So is she okay? The bab
y?”
“Cold and hungry, but the hospital said she would make a full recovery.”
“Is this related to one of your files?” Micah couldn’t imagine how an abandoned baby would be within his purview. That was strictly a police matter.
“I had a client inquire about it, ask me if I could get any intel.”
“Why?”
In her mind’s eye, she could see Wes’s shrug. “I guess he was curious. It could be part of a pattern. I knew it was out there near you and wondered if you’d heard any water cooler gossip.”
“You know me. I’m not the type to hang around the water cooler. And I haven’t finished checking my email this morning, hadn’t even seen the news about her being found.”
Wes grunted. “Okay. I wouldn’t mind hearing about it if you happen to come across something.”
“I’m not likely to hear anything that isn’t in the news. They won’t likely need my services.”
“I don’t suppose they would need yours specifically, but the police could ask EvPro to do lab work on trace evidence.”
“What did they find?” Micah closed her eyes and envisioned the scene. A tiny baby. Diaper, onesie undershirt, sleeper. If the person who had abandoned her wanted her to survive, then probably a warm hat and blanket or sleep sack. Maybe a pacifier or bottle. How old was she? Where exactly had she been left? Micah was picturing a newborn lying in a little hollow of leaves, but that might be far from what had happened. More than likely, she had been left in a store or a car—one of those little gas station convenience stores that serviced the Sweetgrass area.
“Not much to go on. The baby herself—a girl, by the way, not sure how you knew that—some soiled clothes, a diaper bag.”
“They’ll be wanting to process the trace,” Micah agreed. “But I don’t know if they’ll involve us. If it looks like it’s just a routine case, they’ll send it to the city lab and let it wait in line. If there’s a reason to rush it, they might give us a call.”
“I suspect there will be a lot of public engagement. Leaving a baby exposed like that, someone so helpless and harmless, just walking away and abandoning her… it tugs at people’s heartstrings. They’ll be making signs and sending letters. Or tweets, or whatever.”
“I’ll give Kwong a heads-up. Make sure that our decks are clear if it gets shipped here.”
“Alright. Let me know if you hear anything that’s not in the papers. Or if you have any theories.”
“Theories?” Micah repeated. “Somebody decided she was inconvenient.” Just saying it felt like a punch in the gut. “There’s not much to theorize about.”
Wes chuckled. “It’s the truth,” he agreed. “It’s an emotional case, but probably not a complicated one.”
Chapter Five
Sunday was dinner with her parents. Micah didn’t go every Sunday, but she couldn’t stay away too long and let them feel neglected. They had raised her, after all, and she owed them that. No matter what any of her other feelings were about them.
As someone who was fascinated with faces, Micah loved the character in her mother’s face. Despite over-tweezed penciled eyebrows and thin, lipsticked mouth, Marianna Miller’s face was the face of an angel. That was how she had thought of her mother when she was a little girl. As the angel who had been sent to earth to watch over Micah. Maybe Micah had misunderstood something that some Sunday School teacher had told her. Or perhaps she had heard something on TV that planted the idea. Whatever it was, she had not believed, in those early years, that her mother could do any wrong.
Marianna had not aged well. Micah couldn’t remember her ever being young, but she had seen pictures. Her mother had been pretty when she was a girl. But the wrinkles and bags and sags that she had acquired as she got older gave her a permanently worried look, which pretty much matched her emotional state. She was always concerned about something. Fearful of an uncertain future. Sure that they had not done something they should have, or had done something they should not have. What had been lively brown curls when she was young now looked flat and tattered. A wide part to one side showed how thin it was getting.
Her father had become more distinguished with age. His hair had silvered but not receded. He wore the lines on his face like a suit, or like a uniform. She’d seen pictures of her father in his police uniform. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him in it as she was growing up. Probably he only wore it for funerals or meetings with visiting dignitaries by then. His wrinkles looked like they had been drawn on for maximum effect. A cop’s cop. A man who had done his duty, served his town, and eventually retired with honor. If Cole Miller had ever made a mistake, he hadn’t confessed it. He stood by every decision he had ever made, giving a logical reason for each one.
“How was your week, Micah?” Marianna inquired. “I haven’t heard from you all week. Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine. No complaints. It was just a busy week. I’m sorry. I should have at least dropped you an email.”
“Well, I know how busy and all-consuming law enforcement can be. Forty years a police widow. It was quite a shock to our relationship when Cole finally retired.”
Things had definitely been rocky. Micah had, luckily, been out of the house at that point, so she hadn’t had to deal with the constant tension and arguments, but some of it had still boiled over into conversations she had with each of them and into visits home, which she still tended to avoid. Things had eventually settled into a rhythm as her parents each learned to give the other the space they needed, but Micah still found the new dynamic uncomfortable. It was strange to have her father at home every time she went by, and the stories that he told were all the same stories as she had heard before instead of new cases.
“I heard about the arrest of that pervert, David Beggs,” Cole commented, his voice louder than necessary. “That was one of your cases, wasn’t it? It was your pictures that helped to identify him?”
Micah nodded. She poked at the oversalted macaroni casserole on her plate, wondering how much of it she would have to eat to be polite. She didn’t want her mother to think that she was sick or that she didn’t like Marianna’s cooking. Even though she never had.
“The picture helped to narrow the suspect pool and bore a strong resemblance to David Beggs,” she agreed. “But it was good old-fashioned police work that brought him in. The police working his case did a good job.”
Cole beamed, the wrinkles in his face turning upward, as pleased as if he’d still been on the police force and instrumental in making the arrest himself. Blue pride.
“They showed your pictures of him beside his mugshot on the TV,” Marianna contributed. “It always amazes me how you can predict how these criminals will look. It’s a special gift.”
Micah shrugged. She took a couple of bites of the casserole and washed it down with milk. Nonfat milk now, one of her mother’s efforts to keep herself and Cole from putting on more weight than they already had. It had been a constant battle since menopause, she had confided in Micah. Her body had never been the same after the change. And Cole, well, he had put on a few pounds in his years as a detective, not as active as he had been as a street cop, but still with a penchant for Boston Creams. He claimed that he could still wear the uniform that he had worn as a rookie policeman, but Micah suspected that was either an exaggeration, or that what he meant was that he could pull it on, even if he couldn’t button it up.
“You’re always so modest about your talent,” Marianna persisted. “I knew that you had a gift for drawing right from the time you were tiny. The other children your age were drawing stick figures with no noses, and you…” Marianna shook her head, eyes smiling. “You were drawing portraits. Nothing like what you can do now, of course, but faces with depth. And hair. And noses.”
Micah laughed. Drawing had always been a passion of hers. She had never imagined it would lead her where it had. She had wanted to be a cop like her father. Even though she was nothing like him. They had nothing in common.
“Well… mostly routine cases right now. I keep busy with it, but I don’t always know the outcomes. Whether they catch the perp or whether it goes cold. Not all of them are as newsworthy as David Beggs.” She sipped her milk. Marianna’s eyes were on Micah’s plate, and she knew she was going to have to make an effort to get more of her dinner down. She sighed and stirred it around with her fork. “Have you heard anything about Baby Doe? The baby abandoned in the hills?”
Cole and Marianna exchanged glances. How many secrets did they still keep? And why did they still feel the need to protect her? She was a grown woman, independent. Old enough to have a few children of her own, if she had felt the desire to get married and produce offspring. Micah laid down her fork, resentment starting to bubble up.
“It was in the news,” she pointed out. “You heard about the baby, right? You couldn’t have not heard.” She’d been reading everything she could on the case. The police had circulated one picture of the baby, and Micah couldn’t get it out of her mind.
“I saw it on the TV,” Marianna admitted. She gave a little shrug, as if it had been nothing more than the latest sports scores. “It’s very sad. You have to wonder what her parents were thinking, to leave a baby all on her own like that.”
“Outside in the cold,” Micah pointed out. “You don’t just leave a baby under a bush and walk away. Somebody would have to be really disturbed to do something like that.”
Marianna’s eyes drifted away. “Yes,” she murmured. “I don’t know what goes through people’s minds.”
“Do they have any leads on who her parents are?” Cole demanded, pretending that he didn’t feel any of the tension or awkwardness.